


What Is Owed

by MadameHardy



Category: Dragaera - Steven Brust
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 07:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17219384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHardy/pseuds/MadameHardy
Summary: Patience.I have been patient far too long. Give her to me.It's not always easy having a sentient sword.





	What Is Owed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nirejseki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/gifts).



### Prelude

The essence of swordsmanship is captured in five words.

 _Advance_. The master controls the attack, choosing when and where to engage. _Advance_ is the moment when the master plans what will come, and brings it about. _Advance_ is the moment of control.

 _Response_. The master responds to the opponent's attack, seeking always the moment in which to seize control and return to _Advance_. _Response_ is the moment of flow.

 _Recognition_. The combatants cross swords; the master reads the opponent’s strength, intentions, and flaws. _Recognition_ is the moment of knowledge.

 _Strength_. The master applies pressure in order to reduce the opponent’s ability to respond, maintaining his own _Advance_.

 _Weakness_. The master allows the opponent to seize control, in order to lead the opponent into a desired position and thus _Advance_.

\-- _Seventeen Circles_ by Lord Onarr

### Advance

>   
>  _Welcome back, my friends, to the party that never ends!_  
>  — Morrolan e'Drien, probably  
> 

  


Morrolan sat with Norathar in the Peacock Alcove off the main ballroom. A bottle of oregigeret stood in a porcelain cooler on a side table, but neither of them had poured a glass.

Morrolan said, “I had not heard that verse before. I wonder if our manuscripts differ? The figure of the Hound is either a scribal insertion or--"

 _An offering approaches._  
_You see everyone as an offering._  
_I am not in error._

There was a clap at the curtain, followed, without pause for invitation or recognition, by the “offering”. She proved to be a very young woman in the unrelieved — and in her case, slightly rumpled — black of the Dzur. 

"-- or you have a genuine variant, which would significantly change the construction of the Chalice Seventeen-Fold.” Morrolan bowed without rising, indicating that he expected the encounter to be brief. “Ah, Lady Teldra?”

Teldra, indispensable as always, murmured, “Lady Norathar, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Lady Callon. Her mother was a cousin of the late Baroness of Daavya.”

Morrolan continued smoothly, “Good evening, Lady Callon. I trust your needs are being satisfied.”

“Very much so, I thank you, and even more now that I have made your acquaintance.”

 _Can I drink her now?_  
_No._  
_My throat is drier than your empty glass._  
_You don’t have a throat._  
_I knew you to be imperceptive, but I had hoped you would recognize a metaphor._

Morrolan bowed again and returned to Norathar. “I’d like to collate the two manuscripts, if you don’t mind lending yours to me.”

The Dzur broke in. “Pardon me, Lord Morrolan!”

 _Now can I —_  
_Still no._

“What do I have to pardon you for?”

“This!”

The young Dzur cast her House medallion on the floor at Morrolan’s feet.

 _She’s far too foolish to live._  
_Shut up, Blackwand._

Teldra flicked a glance at Morrolan; he sent, _No, leave this to me._

“I thank you, but I have no need of Dzur regalia at this time. I regret being churlish, but I was engaged in a private conversation with the Heiress to the Dragon Throne. Allow me to return your property, and please receive my apologies for the necessary brevity of this conversation.” 

The medallion rose gently in the air and draped itself around the young Dzurlord’s neck.

Callon sneered. “I demand satisfaction!”

Morrolan stood, a hand on Blackwand. “I hope to satisfy all my guests’ needs. Shall we adjourn to the dueling salon?”

### Response

>   
>  _Remember, you're fighting for this woman's honor, which is more than she ever did._  
>  — Loiosh, probably  
> 

Morrolan had no particular inclination to provide a spectacle, and had suggested Norathar and Aliera as witnesses; the Dzur had agreed, but requested none of her own. They walked silently to Castle Black’s dueling salon. 

To be precise, the humans were silent. Blackwand was chanting _Food, food, food._  
_I don’t kill my guests… permanently. This is not your fight._

The salon was one of the few rooms in Castle Black, apart of course from the Tower, that Lord Morrolan had not resigned to Lady Teldra’s capable hands. The walls were panelled in unadorned oak; the floor was rough-finished sprung teak, to ensure a reliable footing. There were racks of weapons at each end. It was, in fact, an exact copy of the salle of Morrolan’s first fencing-master, in Fenario.

When Morrolan and Lady Callon had stretched and taken their places at the ends of the salle, Lady Callon turned, faced Morrolan, and said, “Morganti, of course.”

_Yessssssss!_

Morrolan tilted his head quizzically. “As the challenged, I of course have choice of weapons, but guests in this house must receive anything they require. However, I have taken an oath that no guests in this house shall come to harm, which means that we would have to withdraw elsewhere. May I ask the occasion?”

Callon tossed her head in defiance. “No occasion is needed, when honor is at stake!”

“Satisfy my curiosity, if you would.”

Callon sneered. “No doubt you have forgotten, but the Dzur remember.”

 _How many idiot infant Dzurlords does that make?_  
_Aliera, I’m busy. And I don’t keep count._  
Blackwand replied smugly, _Five hundred and twenty-two._

Callon drew her sword, saluted, and dropped into guard.

“My lady, I repeat, none shall come to harm under my roof. I suggest we teleport to the salon in my summer residence. If that is acceptable to you?”

Callon sheathed her sword again and said, “Quite acceptable.”

Morrolan focused. Nearly immediately he, Aliera, Norathar, and of course Callon found themselves in another dueling salon, identical in appearance, kept in order for precisely this purpose. Norathar and Aliera, as witnesses, stood at the sides of the salon, in the space normally appointed for spectators and judges.

Callon once again drew her sword — Blackwand muttered _Hardly worth calling a sword, is it?_ — and fell into guard.

Morrolan drew Blackwand and felt her wrath crackling through the room; neither Norathar nor Aliera twitched a muscle, both having considerable experiences with Great Weapons. The Dzur remained equally impassive, which spoke of good training; he would expect nothing else of a Dzur, no matter how young.

_At last._

### Recognition

>   
>  _And I lift my glass to the awful truth_  
>  _Which you can't reveal to the ears of youth_  
>  _Except to say it isn't worth a dime_  
>  — Sethra Lavode, probably  
> 

After saluting, Morrolan and Callon set to work.

As Lord Onarr has said, the first crossing of blades is when the combatants begin to understand one another: not merely their experience and their training, but their intent. Is the opponent confident? Unsure? Afraid? Subtle? Daring? Weak?

Morrolan judged Callon to be confident, fearless, painfully straightforward, and daring. And somehow off. She was excellently trained — he expected no less — but not entirely in control of her impulsion. She fought with all the fierceness of a Dzurlord, but with odd lapses in the timing.

Morrolan could have finished the fight at the second stroke, but his curiosity stayed him. 

_Give her to me!_  
_Not yet._

Morrolan continued the conversation. He tried a Jhereg attack, to see how Callon responded to the unexpected. She replied instantly with an unusual envelopment. He’d seen that quite recently, but where? It was nothing like any Dzur tradition.

 _Now._ Blackwand tried to redirect his parry into a fatal riposte.

Morrolan overruled her. _No. There’s a gambit here, and I want to know whose._

### Strength

>   
>  _You're one microscopic cog_  
>  _In his catastrophic plan_  
>  _Designed and directed by_  
>  _His red right hand_  
>  — The Demon, probably  
> 

Morrolan tested Callon with passes from the traditions of the other fifteen Houses — he already knew she was a Dzur, and the Teckla didn’t count — as well as several passes from Fenarian fencing. Callon was trained in the traditional counters for most of the various House styles, which she executed competently although with little imagination. 

_I imagine she’ll taste bland, too. Better than nothing._

Callon was, as Morrolan expected, completely unfamiliar with Fenarian fencing, and he had to exert his will to prevent Blackwand from killing her then and there.

 _Patience._  
_I have been patient far too long. Give her to me._

When Morrolan came to the techniques of the Orca, suddenly Callon’s style changed. She responded with unexpected style and flair. She had obviously fought against Orca repeatedly, possibly even studied under one. That was unusual. He tried the envelopment she had used earlier, and she immediately responded with a practiced esquive. Where had he seen that combination before?

Then Morrolan remembered. He had seen it used in a duel by the Orca Dreofi.

### Weakness

>   
>  _I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned._  
>  — Aliera e’Kieron, probably  
> 

  


Dreofi had ruined three other young Lords, to Morrolan’s certain knowledge. Two had committed suicide and a third, unable to pay her gambling debts, had disappeared before she could be shunned.

This young Dzur, who had no subtlety about her, had attacked Morrolan with no hope of defeating him. 

The honor she was defending was her own; she wanted to die rather than do whatever Dreofi was forcing her to do.

Morrolan spoke, while offering an obvious attack. “There are ways to defeat him.”

Callon executed the conventional parry; as she did so, she briefly looked startled, then resumed a neutral expression. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“The Orca Dreofi. He’s attempting to blackmail you, and you’ve decided to destroy yourself rather than submit.”

Callon attempted to seize the initiative; Morrolan denied it to her. “I have a longstanding dislike of Dreofi, for reasons of my own. I would be delighted to assist you in destroying him.”

“Even a Yendi couldn’t do that.” Callon was neither out of breath nor tiring, but exhaustion was suddenly apparent in her face.

“I am not a Yendi.” And with that, Morrolan disarmed Callon, simultaneously shoving her to the floor with his foot.

### Postlude

>   
>  _Deathgate Falls is the second great disappointment in a Dzurlord’s life._  
>  — The Necromancer, probably  
> 

The Dzur sprawled on the floor, sword spun out of her reach, looking hilariously confused. “You were supposed to kill me!”

_The only sensible person in the room. Heed._

“The only people I permit to give me orders are the Empress and ”— he bowed slightly— “the Dragon Heir.”

Aliera shot, _As if Norathar would be fool enough to try._  
_**Hush.**_

“My Lady Callon, when Dzurlords come to me in search of glory, I oblige them. You, I believe, came for other reasons. I find myself free at the moment; please attend me in the Daythief Alcove when you have composed yourself.”

“But …”

“As a courtesy, under the unusual circumstances.”

Lady Callon struggled to her feet with an expression that, in anybody except a Dzur, would have been called sulky. (The expression was in fact sulky, but most people preferred not to antagonize Dzurlords by telling them so.)

Morrolan sent to Teldra, _Please have a bottle of oregigeret chilled and sent to the Daythief Alcove_.  
Blackwand snarled, _Again you deny me._  
_Why trifle with a baby Dzur when you could have a full-grown Orca?_  
_Accepted_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hearty thanks to Gammarad and the_rck for essential brainstorming and beta on extremely short notice.
> 
> Lord Onarr’s precepts are very, very loosely based on [ Johannes Liechtenauer’s principles of longsword fighting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_school_of_fencing#Unarmoured_longsword). 
> 
> The quotations at the section heads are, in order:
> 
> Welcome back, my friends… Emerson, Lake, and Palmer song and album title  
> Remember, you're fighting … Rufus T. Firefly, Duck Soup  
> And I lift my glass to the awful truth… Leonard Cohen, “Closing Time”  
> You're one microscopic cog… Nick Cave, “Red Right Hand”  
> I know. But I do not approve… Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Dirge without Music”  
> Deathgate Falls is the second … Oscar Wilde, speaking of Niagara Falls and a young bride


End file.
